Heartstone
by Lynliss
Summary: A druid jewelcrafter must find a way to save the life of her love, although she risks her own life, her own soul, in the struggle.
1. Chapter 1

Blue, the shade of the still depths of Lake Elunara, pulsed from the stone Elian fitted into the waiting mithril prongs she'd formed into the amulet in her pale hands. The cerulean light illuminated the grove where she sat, perched lightly on a thick root. A smile flitted across her face as she whispered words of power over the newly-bound stone. Her voice was deep and low, and trembled as the last incantation sank into the amulet. The stone flared bright one last time, then sank into an expectant tumescence.

Elian traced one long, slender finger over the cool brilliance of its facets. Her eyes narrowed. "Keep him safe," she whispered. "Keep him whole."

With a brisk shake of her head, which sent the long fall of her moonlight hair fluttering, she slid the amulet into the soft leather pouch at her belt. Lifting her gaze to the stars, she breathed, "Elune's grace protect us all."

Then her eyes slid shut and her body shifted. The heady scents of the night forest strengthened. She could sense the spot by the stream's edge where a rabbit had stopped for a drink an hour past, the musk of a herd of deer over the next rise, and over it all, a strange rancid foreboding.

Opening her eyes, Elian bounded forward, her soft, broad paws conforming to the earth with each step as she raced through the night towards Astranaar.

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Even in the small hours of the night, the docks of Theramore were not still. Men milled about in the lantern light, shifting crates, sweeping away the detritus of the day's bustle, and a few intrepid fishermen stood huddled in their cloaks against the chill.

Elian's keen eyes picked out a familiar figure at the far end of the dock, sitting in the gentle mist, staring out over the water to where it faded into the blackness of the sky. His blue-black hair rustled in the slow breeze, but he wore no cloak or armor. Dark silk clung to his broad shoulders, damp and cold.

Shifting into her feline form, Elian sank into the shadows and stalked down the mist-slicked wood of the dock. Not a soul marked her passing, and she caught bits and pieces of unguarded conversation among the dock workers as she moved. They spoke of a growing menace, of creatures out of nightmare stalking among the living. Elian turned her thoughts away from their words, focusing on the lone man, now just ahead.

She paused, letting herself take in the beauty of him, the scent of cedar and spice that was so uniquely his. If she could have smiled, she would have, but sadly, this shape would not allow it.

"Are you going to stare at me all night, Elian," he asked, his back still towards her, "Or allow me the joy of your smile?"

In an instant, Elian resumed her elvish form and smoothed her hands down her leather armor. "How do you do that, Conlon? I know you can't see me."

She could hear the laughter in his voice as he replied, "I always know when you are near. Like a singing in my blood."

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled up at Elian, but she could see a telltale tightness to his brows. Something troubled him. Well, that should come as no surprise. Any rational person would be troubled in these times.

"Sit with me?"

As Elian moved to his side, Conlon reached into the pack at his feet and pulled out his cloak, laying it on the damp planks. Elian settled onto it gratefully, glancing over at Conlon who was once again staring out over the waves. Unwilling to intrude into his silent contemplation, Elian simply leaned close against him. Even through the heavy wool of her cloak, she could feel the chill of his body. Turning her gaze to follow his, she laid her head against his shoulder.

They sat thus in silence for many long minutes, her head moving up and down with the steady rise and fall of Conlon's breathing. At last, with a sigh, he reached an arm around Elian's shoulders and held her tight. "I'm glad you're back."

"As am I," Elian replied, running her fingers over the sodden silk shirt clinging to the muscles of his chest. "What's wrong, Con? What worries you so?"

His hand closed about hers, stilling her restless fingers. Somehow his hand was still warm, even after sitting so still in the darkness and the damp. The soft heat began to melt into her skin.

"You still intend to follow this course?" he asked.

Elian bowed her head. "I must. It is the will of the Archdruid."

Heat flared in Conlon's hand, and although he sat as still and calm as a great oak, she recognized the surge of bloodrage flooding through him. "It is not his right. He cannot ask this of you."

Elian closed her eyes and breathed in the salt tang of the air. "It is his right, Con. And my honor."

"It's too dangerous, Elian!"

The ferocity in Conlon's normally controlled voice startled Elian and her eyes flashed wide.

"I've been there," Conlon continued, his arm tightening around her to the point it hurt, but Elian made no sound. "I've seen them. Mutilated things – nightmares made flesh. Though parts drop off their bodies, they are strong - very strong." He turned then and stared down at her. "You are not ready for this."

A sharp clanging split the night air. Elian glanced down the dock and saw the prow of a ship lit by a single lantern nudge into the dock, men scurrying to lash its ropes to the pilings.

She pulled Conlon's fingers to her lips and pressed a kiss to them, then rose in one lithe motion to her feet. "It's time."

Deliberately, she walked away from him, knowing he would follow. She pulled in a slow breath, focusing on her core. It wouldn't do to let him sense her fear. For she would follow the course set before her, or Conlon would die. And he would follow her into the heart of hell, where there was a chance - the slightest breath of a chance - that he would live. That she could save him. Even if it cost her own soul.


	2. Chapter 2

A rush of warmth heated Elian's chilled skin as her gryphon winged into the stone fastness of Ironforge, leaving behind the drifting snowflakes of the sky over Dun Morogh. The great beast's muscles bunched as it folded itself into a controlled landing on the small spit of stone abutting the molten heat of the Great Forge.

Elian slid down its shoulder, giving a courteous bow to both the gryphon and its handler, then stepped back swiftly from the precipice. She pulled back her hood and slipped off her gloves as she watched for Conlon, just a few moments behind. Already, a light sheen of sweat began to glisten on her brow. It was better, she supposed, in the stifling heat of Ironforge than the chill mountain country outside, but she had never been comfortable in the grand city of the dwarves. The heat, the sense of being buried in stone … no, she would not choose to come here, save for necessity.

With a rush of air and beating wings, Conlon appeared and moved quickly to her side. His long, blue-black hair had pulled free from the cord he'd bound it with for the flight, and lay tangled around his shoulders. With his shining golden eyes and carefully trimmed beard, he looked half wild. Elian resisted the urge to reach out and smooth his windswept locks. Instead, she released her own hair from the tight bun she'd tied it into. Too many times she'd found strands of it whipped into her mouth mid-flight, and herself too fearful to let go her grip and pull it free.

Conlon smiled down at her. "You're already ready to leave, aren't you?"

Her lips curled up and the corners. "Don't mock me, just because you don't ever seem to feel the heat or the cold."

A human paladin brushed abruptly between them, so intent on reaching the gryphons, he failed to notice that he'd nearly knocked Elian off her feet. Conlon's swift hand caught her arm, steadying her, and his eyes briefly dimmed. "I feel them, Elian, but I don't allow them to rule me. My mind must be clear or else some day my reflexes may be too slow." His gaze slid down from her face to her feet. "I cannot take that risk. Not with you."

Elian swallowed, feeling suddenly cold, even in the heat of the forge. "Were you going to go to the auction house?" she asked, deliberately nonchalant.

With a nod, Conlon replied. "Yes. I've got more gauntlets to sell, and I wanted to check the price of mooncloth bags."

"Here," Elian said, pulling three finely wrought rings from her backpack. "Put these up too, will you, please? I've got a few things to do. Meet you at the inn in an hour?"

The touch of his calloused fingers curling over her outstretched hand shot through her like lightning. "One hour. I'll be waiting." Then he strode away towards the busy auction house.

Elian watched him go, until he was out of sight. As he slid into the darkness of the passageway, she let out a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her hand strayed to the amulet that lay against her breastbone, hidden beneath her leathers. A shiver ran through her. Did she dare to go where she must? The jewelcrafting master had told her not to seek the knowledge she would find there.

Biting down hard on her tongue, Elian turned and moved deliberately towards the Forlorn Caverns. She'd come this far. She would see it through.

It was dark in the Caverns, and smelled dank. The pool that stretched towards the center of Ironforge radiated a stubborn mist, as the heat from the forge steamed the waters. Condensation clung to the ceiling and walls, trickling downwards, dripping into puddles in the well-worn floor of the Caverns.

Elian could feel eyes on her, suspicious eyes. Uncomfortable under their invisible scrutiny, she slid into her feline form and dropped into the shadows. Even then, some of the eyes followed her still. Warlocks, she realized, would still be able to see her if they wished. All the same, she felt better under the cover of her prowl. She slid silently up a set of stone steps, then past two warlock trainers – gnomes. In this form, she was of a height with them. She crept past, then up another set of stairs.

There. The man she was seeking. She moved behind him, then shifted back to her elven form. "Alexander Calder?" she said.

He moved so fast, she would have thought him a warrior, spinning around, hands glowing as he prepared to curse her. As his eyes fell on her, and he saw she was not an enemy, the fiery glow ebbed from his hands, but did not disappear entirely. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"My name is of no consequence. I seek knowledge. Knowledge of the shadow."

One black eyebrow raised, and the warlock peered up at her. "What would a druid wish with the shadow? Always the pure ones, aren't you?"

Without warning, the dark confines of the Cavern faded, replaced in Elian's mind with a clear image of Conlon, blood streaming from a gash in his forehead, his right arm hung helplessly at his side, the shoulder cut open to the bone. A thick green haze hovered over each wound, sinking resolutely into his rent flesh. The smell of rot and contagion clogged the air, cloying and vile. A soundless howl contorted Conlon's face as he brandished a sword in his left hand, then stumbled as an unseen blade sliced through his Achilles tendon.

Wordlessly, Elian reached towards him, sinking her mind to the well of healing power there, knowing there was too little. Too late …

Conlon's legs gave way and he fell to the ground, puddled in his own blood, swathed in the pulsing cloud of green …

A scream wrenched from Elian's throat …

… and she found herself on her knees, trembling, at the feet of Alexander Calder. His face betrayed no expression. Elian tried to rise, but stumbled as her legs refused to hold her, catching herself against the wall. The rough texture of the stone felt reassuringly solid under her fingers, and she allowed herself to rest there, leaning her weight against its sturdy permanence.

The warlock watched her, as if she were some particularly fascinating experiment, or a unique specimen harvested from some far off place. One finger stroked his chin, back and forth, back and forth. Elian found herself watching it move, mesmerized by the persistent rhythm.

Shaking her head hard, she pushed away from the wall. There wasn't time to think about what had just taken place. This was an image she had seen time and again in her dreams, but never like this. Never in daylight, or cavern-light, as it may be. Never in the full power of consciousness.

She tried to ignore the sinking feeling of naked vulnerability that slid over her. How long had it taken? A few moments? What if it happened again? In battle? What if it happened in front of Con? A shiver ran through her at the thought. He would not be put off by any attempt at misdirection. Not if he'd seen her in such a state. He'd pry and probe until she slipped. And this she could not tell him. Not the moment of his death. The death of the body, and the death of the spirit. She had seen. Con would be lost forever.

Without a word, she reached behind her neck and undid the clasp holding the amulet hidden between her breasts. She pulled it free and held the mithril-bound jewel towards the still-silent warlock. "I need your help, Alexander. Tell me how to bind life and shadow. Show me the power over death."


End file.
